


The Dark of Day, Sam/Dean, NC-17

by meus_venator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, M/M Sex, Post Apocalypse, Rating: NC17, SPN - Freeform, angel!dean, apoca!fic, evil!Sam, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/pseuds/meus_venator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who out there could love you more than I?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark of Day, Sam/Dean, NC-17

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tebtosca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tebtosca/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Тьма нового дня](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005029) by [evenover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenover/pseuds/evenover), [Wincent_Cester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wincent_Cester/pseuds/Wincent_Cester)



> **Title:** The Dark of Day  
>  **Author:** **Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Genre:** Apoca!fic  
>  **Words:** 2,200  
>  **Warnings:** Porny sex, wing!fic  
>  **Disclaimer:** The boys aren’t mine, only the story is mine. This is all done in fun. Don’t sue.  
>  **A/N:** Written for for the lovely tebtosca's (LJ) inspiring SpringFling (LJ) prompt: Who out there could love you more than I?  
>  **A/N 2:** (No sloths were harmed in the making of this fic).  
>  Originally posted **[here](http://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/75431.html)**.

 

  
 

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_The sky is intensely blue,_

_wind rushing against his face,_

_tearing at his hair, his leathers._

_His sword is heavy in his hand,_

_gleaming in the sun,_

_righteous and pure._

 

He wakes on a moan, his brother already eased inside him, still loose and sloppy from the night before.

Strong hands thread through the soft layer of feathers; one takes a firm grasp of his hips, the other is an implacable bar of steel across his chest. Sam is holding Dean so tightly to him he can barely move, his arms pinned to his sides, as Sam thrusts into him, pushing him ungently into the bed. Their bodies are pushed even closer together by the too-small confines of the old metal bed frame.

More blood rushes to Dean’s morning wood and his cock presses down into the sheets. He groans. He knows his brother will not touch him. Sam’s told him in filthy whispers how he wants him. How Sam loves to see him writhing in ecstasy, coming on his cock alone.

So, yet unnoticed by Sam, Dean luxuriates in the feeling of his cock squashed between the scratchy sheets and his body. The friction is pure bliss and Dean mews in pleasure at the unexpected contact of any kind with his aching arousal. Dean rubs his face into the pillow and bites his lip as Sam brushes over that spot, right there, and Dean can’t help but hump into the covers, his hips bucking as much as Sam’s firm grip allows.

Sam laughs, a dark ripple of sound, and suddenly flips them over, Sam on his back, Dean lying sprawled over Sam’s body, his cock bobbing in the air as his brother uses his formidable strength to work Dean’s body up and down on his shaft.

“Nuh-uh, Dean, no cheating. You come on my cock or not at all.” Sam’s voice is a dark purr in his ear.

“Sam, Sammy, please.” Dean begs, his trapped hands straining uselessly toward his aching member. He can feel precome leaking down the head, and Sam is nailing his prostate on every pass, leaving him gasping, but somehow he still needs more.

Sam chuckles, a cryptic, amused sound, and the arm across Dean’s chest twists, fingers moving to tug cruelly at one of his nipples. Dean moans as the dusky tip hardens.

“Dean, you’re such a slut for it.”

His brother’s hand quickly switches to the other nipple, working and twisting until Dean is crying out, “Sam, Sammy, I’m gonna…” There is the rustle of feathers, quaking, fluttering ineffectually and Dean’s heart is jackhammering in his chest, pleasure tightening through him. He is the arrow to Sam’s bow.

Sam’s voice is a rush of sound in his ear, “Come for me brother, come for me now.”

And Dean is crying out, compelled, and come is shooting out of him in strangled spurts, his cock throbbing and twitching above him in the cool morning air.

Dean clenches down as he spasms and beneath him Sam roars in success, as he comes deep inside Dean. Sam relaxes his grip from around Dean’s abused nipple and he lets his fingers sprawl across Dean’s chest, petting him.

“So good for me baby, so good. Just gonna sleep a bit more, lie with you here like this, ‘kay?” and Sam is rubbing Dean’s come into his skin in soothing circles, until he nods off, his hands still anchoring Dean tight to him even in his sleep.

Fully awake now, Dean lies obediently atop his brother, his wings blanketing him, Sam’s shaft slowly softening inside him, come starting to trickle down over his balls. Dean’s wriggles against Sam’s warm body, it should be awkward and a little humiliating to be left pinned on his brother’s cock this way but somehow it isn’t. It's Sam's way of taking care of him, as he has done ever since Dean awakened in this place, his memories of the war shattered and fragmented, much like his body.

Besides, the man was so damn warm, like a furnace. Dean let himself relax into that heat. Sam must have got that from their dad, he muses, because Dean sure as hell didn’t run that hot. Beneath him he could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Sam’s chest, so strangely comforting. He wanted to enjoy these few minutes of peace, of silence alone in his brother’s care, before the grinding gears of life engaged and they were pulled apart and propelled into motion for another day.

Dean didn’t know how long they’d been here in the city, it had been so long he’d lost track. Hell, he only knew it was a city from Sam’s description, tall crumbling spires of what he thought used to be Chicago. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was easy for Dean to lose track of time now. Dean’s mind played tricks on him sometimes.

Tricks that involved Sam, and he didn’t like to think about those times. Sam could be crueler than he remembered.

Dean could feel the weak light coming in through the single small window of the hotel room that was their home, and their prison, now. It was morning. His fingers itched to reach out and carefully ghost along Sam’s face as he slept, but held as he was he could only run his fingers along the cut of Sam’s hip, and remember the miles of golden skin that was Sam.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was soft and satisfied as he pulled Dean off him and gently turned him into the circle of his arms.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean rubbed circles across Sam’s chest, the worn t-shirt Sam had slept in soft and near threadbare under his fingers.

“I have to leave soon, they’ll be coming for me. Come on, let’s get cleaned up and dressed. I have something for you.”

Dean nodded, unspeaking, and Sam helped him rise. Dean's wings brushed the floor of the apartment. Sam had described them for him many times: pure white with a blaze of gold brushed across the tips, soft as sin, and light, and strong. Sam would spend time each night cleaning Dean’s wings when he returned from his duties at the fires, gently ridding them of their dust and grime. Dean squirmed out of Sam’s grip, his wings always so sensitive after sex. Sometimes Sam would torment him for hours, running his fingers along the crest or the tips, or tickling at the sensitive juncture with his shoulders, pretending to be washing, until Dean thought he would go insane with need. Then, finally, Sam would gather Dean up with his giant hands and split him open on his fat cock and pound into him until Dean threw his head back and cried out to the heavens above.

As Sam cleaned them both quickly and turned to dress, Dean allowed himself a moment by the window. He let the sun warm his face. Felt the fresh breeze curl though the opening before the day's fires started and the air turned to a grey choking haze. Dean shrugged, morose at the thought, his wings stiff and unmoving. He grimaced in disgust. It had been that way since he’d awoken in Sam’s arms so long ago. Awoken a pale and broken thing clinging to Sam. He and his brother two of only a handful of survivors in the ruined city, in the blackened world they shared now, surviving only at the sufferance of the demon horde surrounding them.

Sometimes he wished he could scoop Sam up in his arms and fly away, rise up above the crumbling spires, and escape. Dean wasn’t afraid to fly blind, as long as Sam could guide him. He could trust they would fly right.

Often in his dreams he remembered a time before. Remembered the wind in his face, the fierce strength in his beating wings, the exhilaration of flight and the deep blue of the sky around him.

Dean would waken from these dreams with a cry on his lips and tears on his face. His fragmented memories of the sky would scatter like crows before a storm. Through some agency of war he doesn’t remember, he has been left broken on the ground behind enemy lines.

At least Sam was here to comfort him. Shelter him against the demons’ mocking laughter.

Sam would rock him in his arms as he whispered soothing words, petted his wings, useless, leaden weights that they were now, mere decoration, a mockery of what God had intended.

The sun was moving higher and Dean tilted his face, chasing it; closing his sightless eyes that Sam said were still as vivid green as ever. Dean wished he could see green again. Now he saw only black.

In a way he was happy he was blind, it spared him from the weariness and hurt he knew he would have seen in Sam’s eyes, the exhaustion, and the dark smudges he could only imagine from tracing with gentle fingertips the too-thin hollows of his brother’s cheeks.

He sighed, wishing he could be more than a pleasant distraction for Sam – a partner, an equal, like he used to be. Instead he was a useless cripple, weighing Sam down, preventing his escape. So he tried to be the good in Sam's life.

“Sam, if you ever get the chance.” Sam’s finger was at Dean’s lips in an instant.

“Hush Dean, don’t speak that way, you never know who might hear you. Besides, you know I would never let you go. You’re mine Dean, forever, and I’m not letting go. Who out there would love me more than you?” Sam paused and Dean could feel the shake of his shaggy head as the air moved around him, “Now come, I have something for you.”

And Sam was pressing something into Dean’s hand, something firm and smooth. Sam urged his hand up to his mouth and Dean inhaled sharply. The scent, it couldn’t be.

He could almost imagine Sam’s smile, that boyish gleeful grin as he tossed his hair out of his eyes and looked down at Dean for approval. “It’s an apple, Dean. I snagged it off the demons’ lunch table the other day. Go on, take a bite.”

And Dean could feel tears in his eyes, feel them trickle slowly down his cheeks that Sam would risk so much for him. He growled to cover his emotions, “No, you do the heavy work all day, you take the first bite.”

Sam nudged the fruit to his lips. “No, I got one for me too. Go ahead, Dean, enjoy.”

They ate their breakfast in silence, each enjoying the delicious taste of the ripe fruit, and when they were both done Sam leaned down and kissed Dean, his tongue lapping inside Dean’s apple-sweet mouth.

“Mmmn, you taste so good. Too bad we don’t have more time,” Sam murmured in his ear as he helped Dean slide into his jeans.

The harsh bang on the hotel room’s door jolted them apart.

Sam leaned in, giving one more lingering kiss as they heard the lock click. Then the door slammed open and demons shoved into the room, grabbing Sam up from the bed and slamming him against the wall as they attached manacles to his wrists and ankles. “Hurry it up, we don’t have all day, you know.” The demons pushed past the blind angel without another word.

Dean cocked his head as he listened, helpless to stop them from hauling their shackled prisoner out of the room and down the hotel stairs. Dean followed, his wings dragging on the steps, a silent shadow as they exited the building.

He stood there as they led Sam down the street, his ears straining until he could no longer track their movements. He startled at a gentle tug on his wing. Concentrating on his brother, he hadn’t sensed Erin’s approach.

“The demons are gone Dean. They took Sammy away again. What does he do all day, Dean? Momma said they make him do reesurch for them. What’s reesurch, Dean? Oh and Momma said I was to bring you to the fires to help.”

Dean shuddered, turning away from the child. He wondered what the demons would burn when they ran out of books. He held his hand out in offering, and small soft fingers crept into his. He bent his head down to her and forced himself to smile. Ignoring the child’s questions for the moment, Dean raised his face to the sky instead. “Tell me what colour the sky is today Erin?”

“Why it’s blue, Dean, bright blue and sunny. Why do you always ask?”

Dean only shook his head and let the child lead him away.

In the farthest depths of his memory a random fragment caught and he was again high in the blue, blue sky. Dean’s angel blade was raised, the demon before him pleading for mercy, promising to lay down his sword. He remembers nodding, dropping his blade and turning his cheek, and Dean was reminded again that demons lie.

 

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Comments Always Appreciated ^^


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